


I wrote an angry letter to the void, and the void responded

by orphan_account



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Library, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-30 21:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21435283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Monday comes, and the book is still there.  Isak looks around, content to find the floor practically empty, before giving the book the finger.  Fuck that book.-a book finds it's way to Isak's sacred study spot.  this proves to be a major distraction.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Comments: 41
Kudos: 290





	I wrote an angry letter to the void, and the void responded

**Author's Note:**

> someday i will learn to write a fic that doesn't include exhaustion from university work as a major plot point. don't ask me when that day is

There’s a book sitting on Isak’s table. He eyes it warily, looking around the library for a potential culprit. Just like most days, his little corner behind the stacks is abandoned. He can still hear the chatter of the long tables that lie on the other side of the fourth floor, but right here, he’s all alone.

Isak spends a few minutes just glaring at the book after sitting down and pulling out his laptop. It sits at the other end of the table, just far enough away that he can’t properly read the title. Not that he’d want to, or anything.

Isak’s study spot is sacred. He refuses to tell his friends where he gets his work done, knowing that eventually they’d follow him and wreck the peaceful aura he’s curated over the last year.

He’d discovered the spot soon after classes started for his first year last September. After having moved in with Magnus (and by default, Vilde), he knew he would need somewhere out of the apartment to get work done.

The table had called to him, waiting in the sunlight from the big window it sits next to. Isak had promptly put his bag down and claimed the spot as his. He did the same thing last month, after returning to school again, and he’ll do it again next year. The table is his baby. His safe space. 

And now someone just put a book on it, like it’s just some normal regular table that hasn’t seen Isak through his arduous studying processes with immense care. Some people, Isak thinks bitterly. No respect for study spots.

Isak feels slightly violated, but he refuses to let the book ruin his routine. His second round of midterms are starting in a few weeks at the beginning of November, and he came to his spot for a reason. He gives the book one more evil eye, before diving into his notes.

-

Magnus (and by default, Vilde) does not understand his struggle. He attempts to explain it while they eat dinner on Sunday, three days after the book’s arrival. It has not been moved yet.

“So, someone in the library read a book at a table, and now you can’t finish your homework?” Magnus asks.

Isak has to roll his eyes. “When you put it like that, I sound like an asshole.”

“But you are.” Vilde mumbles with a laugh.

“Aw.” Magnus rests his head on her shoulder with a weird purring sound. “But he’s our grumpy asshole.”

They smile at him, like weirdly proud parents, before turning to feed each other mouthfuls of pasta. Isak finds he can’t eat much more after that.

-

Monday comes, and the book is still there. Isak looks around, content to find the floor practically empty, before giving the book the finger. Fuck that book.

-

He and Magnus decide to make an appearance in the cafeteria for dinner Tuesday night. They’ve been spoiled by Vilde cooking for them recently, but she’s going out with friends from one of her many clubs, and neither of them are feeling up to making food without her guidance.

They find Mahdi waiting for them at an empty table, three of the chairs covered in jackets. Mahdi waves them down, and Isak collapses into the chair across from him. He’s about to ask who else has joined them for dinner, when a hand claps on his shoulder.

“Isak.” Even says with a broad smile. “How are you?”

The squeaky sounding “oh” that he gives as a response is cringeworthy to say the least, but Even has the good grace to keep smiling like it never happened. 

He eventually manages to get out a raspy, “Good, good. You?” Jonas and Mikael soon take the remaining seats, with trays full of food.

Isak stands up slowly, and reluctantly follows Magnus to the food line. They give each other a look when they see the unappealing casserole special. He ends up grabbing a handful of rolls and butter instead. Not the worst dinner he’s ever had.

“I miss Vilde.” Isak sighs.

Magnus looks up in delight at the sound of her name. “Me too. I’m texting her that you said that.”

“I’ll deny it.” Isak sasses back, and hands him a plate full of mush. “But really, we need to start cooking more, whether she’s there or not.”

Magnus grins again. “That would make her so happy.” Isak ends up carrying both their trays back to the table, while Magnus tries to get him to smile for a snap to send to Vilde.

When they return to the table, Mikael and Jonas are in a heated discussion regarding the rumors going around about a beloved cafeteria attendant being fired last month.

“I swear,” Mikael says. “He put his foot in the chili. Three people told me about it.”

Jonas rolls his eyes. “Why would anyone do that? He got canned because he was the one putting up those flyers about the affair that the president of UiO had.”

“You’re both wrong.” Mahdi interjects. “It was soup, not chili. And he pooped in it.”

Even, the only one eating soup, pauses briefly. Then he drops his spoon back into the bowl. “Great.”

Isak can’t help the giggle that escapes at Even’s dejected sigh. He slides over his plate of rolls. “Want one?”

Even smiles at him in thanks. “My afternoon class left me starving.”

“That’s right—aren’t you taking mostly night classes this semester?” Isak had felt both relief and misery when Even confirmed that they had almost opposite schedules this term.

Even nods. “Yep. I’m in between right now. My next one starts at 19:00.”

“When does it end?”

“22:00.”

Isak shakes his head. “That’s late, man.”

“It’s only Tuesdays and Thursdays, luckily.” Even says with a shrug. “On Fridays I’m done earlier.”

Isak can’t help but grin at that. “So I’ll still see you at the bars?”

“I wouldn’t miss that,” Even says with a wink. “So. You watch it yet?”

Isak grins. “Just the first episode.” Isak had told him two weeks ago that he needed a new show, and Even has been begging him to watch The Wire ever since.

“And?” 

“It was pretty good. A little confusing.” Isak liked it a lot actually, but whenever someone raves to him about a show, even when it’s Even, he’s hesitant to get into it. He doesn’t want to disappoint them by hating it.

Even doesn’t seem to mind his lackluster response. “It is, at first. But seriously—by the sixth episode, you won’t be able to pull yourself away. It’s like—” He brings his hands to his temples with fervor. “It’s mindblowing, Isak. Honestly.”

Isak rolls his eyes, mostly for show. Anything that makes Even this passionate, this excited, Isak wants to know about. “I guess I’ll keep watching.”

“Good. And text me updates of your thoughts.”

Isak nods in response, always feeling the need to sink further into his chair when Even directs the intensity of his gaze his way. It’s too much, and not enough. 

The discussion moves on around them. Apparently there’s a petition going around to get the cafeteria employee back, based on the argument that he made the best cookies.

He tries to subtly roll his shoulders, press the tension out of his neck. He’s been handling his workload pretty well, and the other little things that stress him out daily. But some days are harder than others. 

Even notices the movement, and brings his hand to the base of Isak’s neck, massaging for just a moment, before letting his arm come to rest on the back of Isak’s chair. The touch both soothes and leaves him more unsteady than before. He smiles a small thanks at Even.

“Do you have a lot of work already?” Even asks.

“Nothing crazy. And I’m enjoying it, so.” He responds with a shrug. “You?”

Even grins at that. “I’m glad. My lit class has been pretty dry, but I’m making my own fun.”

“Course you are,” Isak laughs. “Are you wowing your classmates with your knowledge of great Parisian literature? You did live there for five months.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Even groans. “I’ve barely said anything about it. Besides,” He says quieter, “we’re not reading any French authors.”

“I just wanted to ask,” Isak says, trying to keep a straight face, “Did abroad change you, Even?”

Even raises his hands in defeat. “Fucking hell. We’ve been back in school for two months, and I’ve told you maybe five stories. That’s not bad at all!”

“They were long stories,” Isak counters. “And I have it on good authority that you’ve been attempting to become a French pastry chef in your apartment.”

“Sana?” Even asks sheepishly.

“Sana.” Isak answers. “She said your crepes are disgusting, by the way.”

“She would never say that to me.”

“Yeah, that’s why she said it to me. Because she knows I’ll give it to you straight.”

Even shakes his head with a smile. “That girl…”

Isak returns to his roll. He’s glad that Even doesn’t seem to realize that he’s been checking in on him. Sana always gives him a little look when he asks about how Even and Yousef are doing at their place, like she knows what he’s really asking, but she has yet to call him out.

“I’m kidding though. I like your Paris stories. And I’m glad you had a good spring semester.”

“I knew it.” Even says, grinning. “You’re just jealous that I’m fluent in French now.”

“That’s definitely not true.”

“No. But I learned a little bit. It really was good for me. To be there.”

Isak nods, and slides another roll Even’s way.

“Missed home a lot though. Missed hanging out with everyone,” Even adds, gesturing around the table. Magnus has brought over a large plate of cookies, but Mikael is insisting they’ll never be as good as the ones the poop soup guy made. “It’s been great being back.”

“Feeling—feeling good?” They’d talked a few times last fall, and over Skype in the spring, about Even’s past, his hospitalization at the end of high school. Isak hates to ask, to put that damper on the mood, but he’d hate it more if Even was struggling, and felt like Isak didn’t care enough to say anything.

Even lets out a sarcastic laugh. “You know how it is. Good, but also—trying to stay chill.”

“Chill is good.”

“Chill _is_ good.” Even says back.

-

The thing about Isak and Even is, there is no Isak and Even. At least not in the way Isak fantasizes about.

They’re friends, thrown together at the beginning of last year, Isak’s first and Even’s second. Magnus had a class with Mikael, and latched onto him immediately, dragging the rest of their friends to parties, hangouts, meals, study groups, until Mikael and all the rest just had to accept them as new additions to their group.

There was tension between Isak and Even; Isak knows that for sure. Knows that Even had looked at him a little too long some days, made more of an effort to wait for him after class or accompany Isak back to his apartment, despite living in the other direction.

But he soon found out that Even had a lovely girlfriend, and Isak himself was content to play the field, especially after living his high school days as a virtual shut in.

But by November of last year, Even and his girlfriend had a messy break up, according to Mutta, and Even soon announced his plans to study in Paris for the spring semester. Isak convinced himself that was that.

In a sickly and selfish way, Isak had hoped that maybe he and Even would fall together once Even was single. But Even would fall for someone in Paris, or more likely, Isak pondered, the whole city would fall for him and never allow him to return.

So Isak had tamped down his feelings—with relative success, until that one night in early January, when a big group took Even out one last time before he had to leave the next day for his program.

And as these things go, Isak got drunk, and spent the whole night staring at Even’s face, wondering how his world would possibly be able to go on with Even so far away from him.

And then Even had asked him what was wrong, but Isak couldn’t answer. Couldn’t possibly list, in his drunken state, all the reasons why they belonged together.

So instead, Isak asked Even to kiss him, and Even did. And later, in his room, Isak asked Even to fuck him, and Even did. And much later after that, when Even was fast asleep in Isak’s bed, looking like he belonged, Isak had asked, whispering, if Even would consider staying. But Even did not.

Isak awoke to a little sketch of his sleeping face, and a text from Even promising to keep in touch. The sketch remains in the front pocket of his backpack.

And keep in touch they did, on and off for the next five months and into the summer. They kept talking through Isak spending two months rooming with Eva in her aunt’s basement in Bergen, while he interned at a lab. They kept talking through August, and September, and October, until now. But they never talked about that night. 

It was mostly surface level, if Isak’s honest, not that he doesn’t appreciate that for what it is. Roasting people in the big groupchat or trading movie quotes in lieu of real conversation became the basis of what Isak considers one of his most important friendships. But he can’t help but want more. Isak wants the meaningless texts to be accompanied with a reason behind Even’s every word, a deeper look into this person that no one else gets to see.

Isak has noticed how good Even is at making people feel special or heard. He wants Even to feel that way with him, safe to share everything, good or bad. Isak longs to open up, more than he has before, but he’s not one to fall without a clear view of the ground below, and a parachute triple checked by a professional. 

Vilde would probably tell him that love is worth the risk, but Isak would have to tell Vilde to shove it, because Magnus is a rare breed that put all his cards out on the table on the first date and encouraged her to do the same, and those types of people are hard to find. Isak would then have to attempt to set himself on fire at the thought of being jealous of Magnus and Vilde.

-

Sometimes, when Isak is feeling a little maudlin after a long day, he convinces himself he just dreamed that whole night up, and if he were to ever bring it up to Even, he would just get a horrified look in return.

-

Wednesday has Isak feeling weird. He watched an episode of Queer Eye with Vilde late last night, and it’s left him pondering things. When he finds the book waiting for him, he feels a tug of sympathy. The poor book. Just like Isak, it’s simply taking refuge in the best spot in the library.

Some asshole left it there to die, but Isak won’t let it. He reaches across the table slowly, and slides the book towards him. _Will You Please Be Quiet, Please_ is the title. By Raymond Carver.

Isak is sure his eyeroll is felt around the world. If there’s one thing he finds more boring than poetry, it’s short stories. He still pities the book, but he thinks he better understands the one who abandoned it here. Anyone would have done the same. Isak has never met a person who could willingly read an entire book of half assed stories.

He opens it up, to find it dog-eared in many places, but only one story has actual notes written in the pages. So he settles in to read _The Student’s Wife._

Isak finds that he doesn’t much like the wife. And he hates the husband even more. Their lives are sad and little, and it makes Isak feel sad and little. And he thinks he already knew this, but Raymond Carver clearly had some issues. 

The notetaker agrees. With the exception of some notes on language, there’s nothing substantial written in the margins, just the occasional “ew”, “really?” and “ugh”. Until the end. There’s a hastily written blurb, some of which Isak has a hard time discerning.

-

_What was the point? What’s the point? So does everything just suck, is that it? Is Carver demonstrating that age old idea that marriage is a prison, and no one is happy, and if you manage to make it to your forties then you’ll be stuck in bed next to your husband of twenty years that is virtually a stranger? Is that it? God, can people just get some happiness? Some comfort? Can anything be good? Or is this what I have to look forward to? I mean, come on, Carver. I know you had a shit life, but just lighten up, please! I just want something that gives me hope._

-

Isak laughs as he reads the angry letter to the dead author. He feels a little bad, because clearly this person is writing from the heart. If they’re looking for happiness, they’re not going to find it in Carver, that much he knows for sure.

But the earnestness gets him thinking about the story, about its messages. The characters’ marriage is clearly a disaster, but maybe Isak doesn’t react much because he’s seen that with his own eyes, in his own home. Reading about it in story just leaves him with a vague sense of familiarity.

Before he can stop himself, he rips a piece of paper out of his notebook.

-

_You’re not wrong. This story sucks. I mean—it’s good, but it sucks. But Carver’s probably just writing what he knows. He thinks life is crap – you know, the whole drinking himself to death and all that. I don’t disagree, but I do think we can do better. Just because some guy in the 60s didn’t like his wife, doesn’t mean you’ll end up in the same situation. Some people read Carver to escape. I just watch Breaking Bad or Narcos, but that doesn’t mean I expect to end up in a cartel any time soon. Fuck Carver. Read what makes you feel good! Life can be crap, but the media we consume doesn’t have to be._

-

It’s a lot more than he meant to say, but he sticks the ripped piece of paper in the front of the book anyways. Maybe it won’t get back to the original reader, but it felt nice to write. Isak is one who always rolls his eyes and ignores notes on bathroom stall walls, or lecture hall desks, but he tells himself this one is different.

-

By Friday, the book is gone. Isak finds that he misses its presence, and he’s only slightly disappointed to find that there’s no note or response left in its place. He puts it out of his mind, and starts grinding out the lab write up that’s due at midnight.

-

Isak drags his feet to the library late in the afternoon on Sunday. He’s still hungover, and the building is close to empty, but homework waits for no man.

He’d gone to a bar last night with Magnus, running into just about everyone in their social circle once they arrived. 

Isak had watched, brooding, for about twenty minutes as Even chatted with a girl across the room. He’d soon returned to the group with her in tow, introducing her as his friend “Amina” from his time in Paris, and Isak felt slightly bad for staring daggers at the girl he knows ended up being a good support for him when he was away.

But then she said with a knowing smile, “You must be Isak!” before giving Even a little look, and Isak went back to glaring. Feeling like the butt of some joke that he’s not sure he wants to hear.

Vilde was in his ear for most of the night, raving about her friend from dance that Isak needs to meet, with the assurance that “he’s hot and single” but Isak hasn’t hooked up with anyone this year. He’s been telling his friends it’s because he’s focused on school, which isn’t a total lie, but maybe a deeper part of him knows. 

Knows that he’s waiting around for Even, hoping that somehow Even will sense his feelings without him having to communicate them, and then they’ll kiss in a rainstorm and be together forever. Isak had walked into their small living room to Vilde and Eva watching _A Cinderella Story_ on Friday night, and maybe he stuck around for the whole thing. And maybe he shed a tear at Sam’s speech in the locker room. And maybe it’s been getting to him, more than he’d like to admit.

His head is pounding as he slumps into his chair. Partly from the alcohol, but mostly from the churning thoughts that he can’t seem to stop. He’s tired of this cycle of ecstasy when Even smiles at him, and complete agony as soon as he turns away. He’s tired of the pining.

He considers booking a flight to somewhere far up north. Hell, maybe he’ll go all the way to Svalbard, and two seconds before he has to board he’ll give Even a speech about how deeply he feels for him, how he might even call it love, before hopping on the plane and living out his life as the mysterious hermit that lives all alone in a little mountain pass. He laughs at himself. Even in his fantasies of being brave, he still manages to be a coward.

It’s a few minutes before Isak notices the new book across the table, too caught up in his head. He eyes it warily. He hates to give in so quickly, after he made the other one sit for a week, but he really wants to see what this one has to say.

It’s even worse than the last book. _Romeo & Juliet,_ it reads. Isak can’t wait to see the scathing review the reader has left this time.

He is sorely disappointed. This book is older than the last, well worn, and as he flips through the pages quickly, Isak sees copious margin notes written in different pen colors. The reader has clearly gone through this multiple times over the years.

On the inside of the front cover, Isak finds a note to himself. Well, he assumes it’s to him. It’s addressed to _Drug trafficking enthusiast and fellow Carver critic._

The moniker makes Isak giggle. 

-

_Thank you for responding! As you can tell, that little note was written to the void, and the void responded! For once! Seriously. It was a treat. And your words inspired me to return to my favorite play. It’s just the most epic and tragic and yet beautiful love story, you know? You can borrow it if you like! I’m sure you’ll love it. Also I’ve never seen Breaking Bad. Do I dare?_

-

Isak groans. He never thought he’d be considering putting off homework to read _Romeo & Juliet,_ which happened to be the bane of his existence in the first year of high school.

He sticks the book in his bag instead. He still has some semblance of priorities. He puts his head down and gets to work for the day. Before he leaves the library, however, he takes another piece of notebook paper and leaves it in the original spot.

-

_Dear reader of bad literature,  
I’m taking the book home to read. It might take me awhile. Midterms and all that. But let me tell you right now, R&J sucks, maybe even worse than Carver. Also, how can you ask for something with hope, and turn to this play of all things?? They die! They’re dead! And all the good characters die because of them. That’s it. And before that, it’s just two horny teenagers rebelling against their parents. Been there, done that. Real love is just – better than that. _

_And I swear, if you tell me some bullshit about the tragedy making it better, I’ll tear this book up. I’d rather just watch the Baz Luhrmann movie. It’s still depressing as fuck, but the 90’s aesthetic is dope. <strike> And it makes me think of my crush.</strike> PS. Watch Breaking Bad! So good. I just started The Wire too – I’m very into it. Swear I’m not a drug addict though._

-

Isak kicks himself for letting his Even-pining seep into this random correspondence he seems to be taking up, but he just can’t help it. Thoughts of Even are a part of everything Isak does these days.

-

By Tuesday, Isak is only about 30 pages into the play. Despite his enjoyment of the added notes, he still thinks it’s a slog. It’s after a quick cafeteria dinner that Isak makes it to his table. 

Mutta had been hounding him about sharing his study spot, because he hates doing homework without someone to distract (according to Even), but Isak is still very territorial. He’d told everyone it was in the science center, and you need special access to get in. Luckily he spends most of his time with arts or business majors, so no one thought to question him.

Even had given Isak a skeptical eyebrow raise, but not even a face like that could make him crack. Isak didn’t stick around to test that theory.

The note Isak spots on the table serves to make him smile. He’s sure the reader took offence to his hatred of _Romeo & Juliet,_ but he hopes they know it was a joke. Mostly.

-

_Hater of all things good,  
Okay. Maybe my title was a little harsh. But you’re the one holding my book hostage! And I gave it to you in good faith! You’re partly right about the ridiculousness of R&J, but I’m still more right. And now I’ll tell you why. Shakespeare, first of all, is overrated for a reason: because he (or the writer who called himself Shakespeare) is fucking good at writing!! Yeah, people go heavy on the praise, but most of it is justified. He influenced modern society so much just by writing these stories, you don’t even know. _

_But anyways. I think your issue is that you don’t like my form of escapism, which happens to be cheesy, and yes, sometimes tragic, love stories. It’s the same way I don’t get people who sit down and read Carver for fun, or the way a buttoned up old lady wouldn’t get why you watch shows about sex, drugs and criminal activity. I think love has just got me down lately. Even though Romeo and Juliet end up dead, at least they die together, right? That’s way dark, I know. I just mean, they found each other in a split second. Why is it taking me long? The worst part is, I know my person. But we just don’t seem to be on the same page, I don’t know. Now I’m sad :( If only I had my favorite book to keep me company._

_But here’s an idea! I’ve given you two books, now you have to give one to me. I won’t even make you annotate. Just give me something you like._

-

Isak crushes the paper against his chest. The tone of it is so comforting, for whatever reason. He pauses as he looks to the page again. If he’s being honest, it reminds him of Even. He wants to banish this little sliver of hope that’s growing in his mind, but once the thought is there, it won’t leave.

He forgoes homework for pulling out _Romeo & Juliet._ He’s pretty much ahead anyways. He reads voraciously. The prose itself, but mostly the notes. And he lets himself hope. Reads the more snarky words with Even’s laugh in mind, and the heartfelt explanations next to romantic scenes with that faint memory of Even sighing, sated, in his ear.

He still remembers, the third week of class last year, doing a very similar thing to what he’s doing now. Putting off homework for _Romeo & Juliet,_ at the request of some enigmatic figure that he feels drawn to. Last time it was Even, his number newly programmed into Isak’s phone, Even giving him a list of things to watch or listen to, Isak just trying to keep up. Always trying to keep up with Even.

Isak still hates the play. He huffs at the Friar Laurence and his incompetence, but lets himself sniffle at Mercutio’s death, still replaying that gut-wrenching performance by Harrold Perrineau from the movie.

The last page, though. The last page. It’s late when he reaches the end, later than he usually stays at his spot. The lines themselves move him, sure. But the sketch at the bottom of the page is what catches his eye.

It’s unfinished. But he recognizes that jawline, those lightly shaded lips. He blushes, sinking deep into his chair, though he knows no one is here to see him. It’s him. It’s just—it’s him. In this book.

Isak digs his hand through the front pocket of his backpack, keeping his eyes on the page in front of him. He doesn’t need to look to find the piece of paper he’s searching for. He’s run his fingers over it enough times in the last year to know the feeling of it by heart.

His hand reaches it soon enough, tucked between pages of a long-forgotten planner that Sana had forced him into taking. He pulls the paper out of his bag carefully, like he always does, and places it on the opposite page.

It doesn’t take an artist to know that the drawings are the same. Done by the same person. Isak feels warmth flooding through his chest, despite the chill in the stacks at the late hour. 

Warmth that he has this little connection with Even, this weird camaraderie over literature that no one else has. Not his friends from Paris, not his squad—just Isak has this. Warmth over this image, repeated in Even’s self-proclaimed favorite book.

But Isak is a selfish gremlin as well as someone who craves logic and evidence. A drawing is one thing, but Even could be moping about any random guy. He feels a little bad having this knowledge that Even doesn’t have, but he writes a note anyways, this time leaving the book with it. He considers tearing out the picture, but he holds himself back.

-

_I have some things to say  
First—a statement: I still hate R&J. But maybe your annotations made it more bearable. I’m glad you don’t only consume tragedies though, the same way I don’t only watch shows about drugs! I mean it. I binged Queer Eye last week._

_Next  
This person. I’d like to hear more. Are you sure you’re on different pages? Maybe you just read at different speeds? Interpret the words differently? I have books on the mind, clearly. I don’t have a book to give you yet, but I will soon._

-

Thursday finds Isak sitting next to Even in the cafeteria again. At no surprise to himself, he spends a lot of the night staring at Even’s profile, trying to discern if anything seems different about him.

His study gets him nowhere, except for a moment when Even turns to him with a fond smile and pats him on the leg.

“No dinner at the apartment tonight?” Even asks.

Isak coughs, trying to remember the excuse he’d thought up on his walk to the cafeteria, after confirming that Even would in fact be eating here tonight. “Date night. For Mags and Vilde.”

Even tilts his head, smiling. “They’re cute.” Isak agrees, not mentioning that it was his idea to vacate the apartment early this evening to leave them alone. He’d even told Vilde he was only doing it for his own selfish gain, but she’d insisted on giving him a snuggle before he left anyways.

Adam and Mahdi sit across from them, laptops open as they attempt to put their two braincells together to complete their econ assignment. Isak is no economist, but he’s pretty sure hyperinflation is a bad thing, despite Adam’s claims.

“You have class at 19:00, right?” Isak asks Even, laughing as Mahdi reaches over Adam in an attempt to change his answers on his computer.

“No, actually. Do you—do you have work to do tonight?” Even asks, with slight hesitation. 

“I—” Isak does not. He did have plans to retreat to his study spot, maybe read a note that could make or break him, and then start up the second season of The Wire in his cozy chair, waiting for the all clear from Magnus. He has no desire to come home to whatever a Vilde/Magnus date night entails. Isak wants the place deep-cleaned before he returns.

“I could really go for some hot chocolate tonight.” Even says.

And that settles it. What Even wants, Isak will provide. The note can wait; for now he wants to be in Even’s presence for real. “Then hot chocolate it is.”

-

KB is closing up as they arrive, but Even charms the barista into making them one drink before they’re kicked out, because of course he does.

They start walking, seemingly in the direction of Even’s apartment. They talk as they go. Even explains the mini-feud he’s found himself in with Sana, after she learned (from Isak, not that he’s telling) that Even has been letting her win at Wii Tennis.

“Yousef is being very diplomatic about the whole thing.” Even says with a faux-serious tone.

“Why doesn’t she just challenge you to a rematch where you have to try?” Isak asks, still laughing after Even had done a whole reenactment of the tennis match in question.

“That’s just it!” Even says, nodding emphatically. “Because she’s scared she’ll lose if I actually try.”

“Really? Are you that much of a master at Wii Tennis?”

Even rolls his eyes. “I’ve been honing my craft since I was a kid.”

“The problem is, though,” Isak says, all cocky, “You haven’t played me yet.”

Even looks at him, eyebrows raised in delight. “I guess I know what we’re doing tonight.”

-

Yousef and Sana are at the apartment as Even and Isak barge in, noses still red from the cold, both heaving after they raced each other up the stairs. It’s all very childish and fun, and leaves Isak feeling giddy at the way he keeps making Even do his full body laugh.

They shed their layers as Sana jumps into action to set up the Wii, once they’ve explained their plans for the night.

“I mean it, Even,” She starts, “You better give it your all.”

Even just smiles and starts stretching. Isak begins to wonder if he has overestimated his Wii Tennis skills. It’s been about three years since he played, now that he thinks about it.

He checks his phone to see a thumbs up from Mags, letting him know the apartment is safe for entry, but he just tucks his phone in his jacket.

Isak has a cheerleader in Sana while Even has one in Yousef. Isak may be rusty, but Even is very loose with his swings. He almost takes out the floor lamp a few times, and they eventually have to pause to move it into the hallway.

It’s a tough competition, and Sana is an even tougher coach. Isak shudders to imagine being on a real sports team with her. 

But the atmosphere is fun, and after Isak trips backwards over the coffee table and onto his back, the four of them have a hard time returning to the game due to the contagious laughter going around.

They end up tuning into some basketball game at Sana’s insistence, while Yousef makes them all tea.

If Isak were a more optimistic person, he would say that the vibe feels almost double date-y. Instead, he shakes himself out of his head, and chooses to focus on the way Even is leaning in close to him as he explains the rules of basketball to Isak.

When Sana says, skeptically, “I thought you told me you played all the time when you were a kid,” Isak just grins.

“Guess I forgot.”

-

A piece of paper sits on the table when Isak arrives on Friday afternoon.

-

_I’m glad you liked my ridiculous commentary. And thank you for returning the book in one piece._

_Okay. I haven’t really told people about this, so I probably shouldn’t start with a random person who could be gathering my secrets in order to steal my identity… But I’m bursting at the seams here. _

_He’s just, it, you know? We clicked as soon as we met. I know we did. But the timing was shitty, and I was sort of stuck in place and not willing to try something new, and then he’s really hot and people realized that (and they should, because he deserves to be loved) but that was just another reason to leave it alone. _

_But then we ended up hooking up and it was everything, but surprise! The timing fucking sucked again, and I didn’t know if I was making shit up in my head, because I’ve been known to do that. _

_I was abroad last semester and having so much fun but I just couldn’t get over it. Everywhere I went, I kept thinking ‘huh. If only he was here with me’._

_And now that I’m back, I feel like like things could be falling into place, but I don’t know. And then I worry that what if he just wants to hook up, because he’s never dated anyone that I know of, and me trying to be domestic will scare him off. _

_I don’t want to do anything drastic because I’ve made mistakes with that before. And we’re in the same friend group so if it doesn’t work then it would be awkward and everyone would know. And he’s so nice that he would feel bad even though it would be my problem. _

_He’s just. FUCK. I love him. As you can see I’ve been holding a lot of this in. Thank you for reading. But I wouldn’t blame you if you just skipped most of this. I could write a novel length book about his hands but I won’t because I don’t think you want to hear that._

_I await your book recommendation._

-

If seeing his face sketched in Even’s book left Isak unsteady, reading this note leaves him fucking paralyzed for about ten minutes. No thoughts. No movement. Just. What the fuck? 

All he wants to do is walk over to Even’s apartment or wherever he is, and just shake him and yell, “I fucking like you, you dick.”

Once the shock subsides slightly, Isak can just feel the stupid grin on his face. Even likes him. Not his ex, not Amina, not anyone else, just Isak. And he likes his hands. And he thinks he’s hot. 

Isak still feels a little bad for kind of violating Even’s trust a little bit, but he never claimed to be perfect.

He brings his legs up to his chest, and curls into his cozy chair. Reads the letter three more times.

-

He’d begged off going out tonight, already having plans to eat dinner with his mom. She’s whipping up a three course meal when he arrives, still slightly giddy from the library. 

Isak has been learning to cherish these times. Trying to burn the memories into mind, the lovely squint of her eyes as she smiles big, the warmth of her hugs, so he can hold onto that, when things get hard. Because he knows things will always get hard, at some point, before the good times can come again.

After dinner he spends the evening scouring the bookshelves in his old room, looking for something that speaks to him, that could maybe speak to Even. They’ve been texting on and off the whole night, Even expressing his disappointment at Isak’s absence from the group. 

Isak is trying to stay chill, even in the privacy of his childhood bedroom, but he’s full on giggling as Even makes exaggerated claims of Vilde and Eskild performing an interpretive dance in the bar dedicated to Isak.

_Isak: send a video then_

_Even: camera is broken!! 🤠_

_Isak: you sent me a snap 10 minutes ago_

_Even: what? You’re breaking up, sorry_

_Isak: we’re not even talking oh my god. you’re an idiot_

_Even: say that again? The bar is so loud! Can’t hear anything_

_Isak: fuckin hate you 😂_

Isak stares at the bookshelf. He’s not quite sure if he has a favorite. He had loved reading _Bad Blood,_ the book about Theranos last year. Him and Sana were constantly updating each other when new information came out, both completely obsessed with the whole scandal.

But he wants something that could demonstrate the depth of how he feels to Even. Isak’s not sure if a book could ever do that. Maybe he’ll just have to write one.

Isak remembers, then, his first Christmas at the kollektiv. Eskild had pressed a book into his hands as Isak headed out the door on Christmas Eve, after his dad had guilted him into spending the next week back at the house.

It was _Song of Achilles._ “You’ll like it, I think. Just read it.” Was all Eskild said before giving him a quick hug and sending him off.

Isak had stuffed it in his drawer as soon as he arrived, feeling slightly distressed at being handed a “gay” book when he’d yet to fully accept himself, let alone express that to Eskild.

But that Christmas was a painfully awkward affair, and Isak found himself hiding in a room that didn’t feel like his, with nothing to do, so he’d just started reading.

He felt like a different person by the time he was done. Isak had read books that had sucked him in, but this one felt so visceral. It’s like it knew the turmoil he was feeling, and concocted some story that would bring out all of his long buried emotions. It wasn’t long after he returned to the kollektiv that he had a few important conversations with Eskild.

He opens up the night stand drawer. The book still sitting where he had left it, almost three years ago now.

Isak feels strange for a moment, some combination of grief and sympathy for the scared and repressed kid he used to be. Still is, some days. He doesn’t often allow himself time to stop and analyze his past, but for a second, he just floats in it. In the memories that still make him wince, the knowledge that the walls of this house still hold so much unattended pain, even if some happy moments are now patched on top.

Isak loves his parents. Deeply, though it took some time to be okay with that, given all that happened. But that doesn’t mean he plans to live his life the way they did, never talking about the things that so needed to be addressed. He had meant what he said in that first note to Even, before knowing it was Even: he can do better.

He makes sure to tuck the book in his bag before joining his mom in the living room to watch a movie.

-

Mutta has invited a bunch of people over for “brunch and FIFA” late on Saturday morning as a late birthday celebration. Isak is slightly confused by the concept, but after Yousef informed the giant groupchat that Even has perfected his crepe-making skills and will be showing them off, Isak will absolutely be attending.

He had made the mistake of opening up _Song of Achilles_ after returning to his apartment last night, and spent most of the night getting wrapped up in the story again. The long note he’d planned to tuck into the pages went unwritten.

The book sits stuffed into his jacket pocket as he treads behind Magnus and Vilde on the way to Mutta’s place. They’re late. Vilde says it’s because Isak slept in, but he has perfected the art of getting ready in under a minute—he’d spent five minutes trying to nap at the kitchen table while Vilde was still running around looking for wrapping paper for Mutta’s gift. At no surprise to anyone but Vilde, Isak and Magnus did not have a gift wrapping toolkit in their closet. Magnus was able to convince her that Mutta would appreciate the artsy use of newspaper as wrapping paper, luckily.

They’re the last to arrive. Isak’s attention is immediately drawn to where Even stands at the stove, pausing his batter mixing to wave at the newcomers, eyes squinted in a grin. 

Their eyes meet for a long moment, Isak almost missing the hug that Mutta offers to him as thanks for brining a gift. Isak is confused for a second, until Vilde smirks at him.

“It’s from all three of us, right Isak?” She says with a nod.

“That’s right.” God, he loves Vilde.

They’re herded into the main room, where Isak catches up with Chris and Noora for a few minutes. It’s slightly crowded around the TV where an intense round robin is brewing. Elias is currently sitting on top of the scoreboard as undefeated FIFA champion, but Jonas is putting up a good fight.

Once Isak feels he’s put in his time and shown his face to enough people, he heads back into the kitchen, where only Even remains, cooking up the last of the crepes.

He’s about to announce his presence, when Even offers a plate in his direction. “Saved one for you.”

“For me?” Isak asks as he takes it.

“Had to fight off an angry birthday boy, so be grateful.” Even says, looking up from the pan with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Please, Mutta’s birthday was almost a week ago. Birthday privilege is over.”

Even laughs. “Try telling him that.”

Isak pours himself some coffee before settling next to Even. He considers sitting at the table so he can eat the crepe with a knife and fork, but that would mean being halfway across the room, and he can’t have that. So Isak just shrugs, and picks up the crepe with his hands.

“It’s good,” He grumbles out, mouth still full as Even watches to see his reaction.

“Good,” Even says with a nod. “How was home?”

“Alright. Got a good meal out of it.” Isak answers, remembering the book still in his jacket in the hall. “We watched that new movie, about the Beatles not existing.” He grabs another crepe where Even is piling them up on a plate. They really are good.

“I liked that one! What did you think of it?”

“Eh.” Isak grins. He can’t help himself. “A little cheesy.”

Even gives his eyes a roll. “You would think that.”

“I liked it though. My mom thought it was cute. The bar was alright?”

“Yeah. You didn’t miss anything.”

“Really? Not even an interpretive dance?”

“Well. There was that. Really beautifully done.” Even responds sarcastically.

Even places the leftover crepes on the kitchen table, along with all the fix-ins. Magnus soon appears in the doorway, letting them know that Even is up next for FIFA.

Isak sighs, and follows them out of the kitchen.

-

Isak usually doesn’t go to the library on Saturdays. He likes to still get work done in the late afternoon, but he does it half-assedly on the couch with some random show on in the background.

But he wants to write this note, or letter, or confession, whatever it is. And he figures his study spot is the best place to do it.

-

_Even  
Hello. It’s me. Your friendly neighborhood book hater. Also known as Isak. Valtersen. Also known as the guy that loves you. This sounds so childish. But I was told by one of the girls I tried to date in high school that I’m emotionally stunted, and she may have been right._

_Sorry I didn’t tell you that I was your book buddy earlier. I didn’t realize until a few days ago. I hope you aren’t mad. I just got a little scared. I think I wanted some confirmation that I wasn’t being completely delusional over the past year. I really wanted it to be me you were talking about, because I was so scared about how I would feel if it wasn’t, if that makes sense._

_Anyways. This book. I guess I’m trying to say that in my eyes, I’m a little bit Patroclus, and you’re a little bit Achilles. And that scares the shit out of me but it also makes me so happy. I think –-_

“Isak?” The voice catches him off-guard, his hand spasming on the page mid-sentence.

Even stands before him, in the little corner of the stacks where no one ever thinks to look. He looks slightly confused, like he hasn’t worked it all out in his head yet. Isak almost wants him to, so he doesn’t have to explain it himself, but he dreads the moment of realization.

“What’s up?” Isak says, all chill like his face isn’t completely on fire.

Even approaches the table slowly, pausing to pull out the chair on the other side. “I was just going to get a few hours of editing done before tonight.”

Isak nods. The continuation of Mutta’s birthday celebrations.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t know you knew my spot.” Even asks, sitting down finally.

Isak wants to throw the book in his face. Even is so perceptive, except in the moments when Isak desperately wants him to be. “Your spot?”

Even nods. “I usually end up here in the mornings before class.” Right. Opposite schedules and all that.

“Just trying to write something.” Isak mumbles, lifting up the book in his hands.

“I’ve read that one. So good.” Even says with a smile. “I have so much work to do on this screenplay assignment for class. I took a break from it for a few days, and when I came back I ended up deleting about half.” He pulls out his laptop, going about his routine like he didn’t just catch Isak in the act of attempting to write him a love letter. 

Isak feels the urge to just toss the book into Even’s lap like a grenade, and run off into the fading afternoon light, but he literally just told himself yesterday that he wasn’t going to do shit like that anymore. He considers his options as he watches Even focus in on the work in front of him.

Isak huffs. He doesn’t know why, but handing Even the unfinished note just feels wrong, and he’s clearly going to be here for awhile, so Isak returns to his writing.

-

_…<strike>I think you</strike>…_

_…<strike>I think I</strike>…_

-

Isak feels weird. Even has one headphone in, jamming to some unheard song as he gives Isak a brief smile when he notices him staring.

Isak diverts his eyes quickly, but once Even is focused again, he returns to the subject of his letter. It’s both infinitely easier and harder to fantasize about the guy when he’s sitting right in front of him.

Even’s hair is mussed from the hood of his big jacket, and he hasn’t bothered to run his fingers through it yet like he normally does. Isak likes seeing him slightly disheveled. He supposes he’d like to take Even apart and put him back together himself. Even’s face is still flushed from the weather outside, cheeks blotchy.

Even rests a hand on the table as he keeps reading on his computer. Isak spends a few seconds staring at it, remembering how those fingers felt pulling on his hair so long ago, how gentle they were as they gripped his thighs. Isak lets out a snort. He should be the one writing a book about Even’s hands, apparently.

-

_I think you’re beautiful. When you look at me, I want to combust. I want you to forget I exist. I never want you to turn away. I feel so overwhelmed sometimes when we talk. I’m desperate to soak in every word you give me, and I feel like nothing I say in response could ever measure up. Never capture your attention the way you do with me. But I’ll just keep trying, because I’m a little selfish, and now that I know I’m not alone in this I refuse to fuck it up. I love you. You love me. That’s un-fuck-upable, no matter what other shit happens._

_Isak_

\- 

Isak wants to throw up just reading it, but instead he just tucks the note into the front page before placing the book on the table. Even looks up, and follows his movements, eyebrows furrowed, as Isak slowly slides the book across the table. He shuts his computer when the book reaches him.

“You asked for a book recommendation.” Isak says. He then proceeds to pull his hood up and over his eyes, curling into a ball on his chair. He doesn’t need to see this.

Isak hears the crinkling of paper and a little gasp from Even, but he stays in his cocoon.

After a few minutes of nothing but white noise of the library, Isak gets concerned. Did Even leave quietly? Did he die from the secondhand embarrassment?

Isak emerges reluctantly. Even’s still reading the page. His lips are pursed, almost smiling, and his eyes are slightly red. They keep sliding over the page, like he’s reading it over and over again.

Finally, Isak clears his throat. Even looks up, almost like he forgot he was there in the first place. “How did you know?” Even asks, voice hoarse.

Isak pulls the sketch of his jaw out from its home in his bag and puts it on the table. “You did another one of those in your book.”

Even’s face is red. He picks the drawing with a small smile. “It’s kind of a fixation, I guess. You still have this?”

Isak shrugs, embarrassed again. “You just read the note. I… like you, and shit.”

Even laughs fully then. “And shit?” He shakes his head, still grinning. “I should’ve known it was you. Even when you were trashing my interests I still wanted to read what you had to say.”

Isak tries not to let himself get too hopeful, but it’s hard when Even is gazing at him like that. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Even asks incredulously. “You just handed me a love letter, Isak. This is fucking—” He looks up at the ceiling. “I’m the exact opposite of mad.”

“Even about the whole… not telling you part?”

“Honestly, I probably would have done the same thing.”

They just look at each other for a moment, both with disbelieving smiles on their faces. Isak’s not quite sure what to do next. He says as much to Even.

“I don’t know,” Even says with a shrug. “I really didn’t think we’d…”

“Me neither.”

“Guess that says a lot about us. Can’t believe it was Shakespeare that brought us together.”

Isak scoffs. “Carver did the bulk of the work, I would say.”

Even just smiles. “I’m just glad you responded. Maybe Carver is good for something.” He starts putting on his jacket.

“Where are you going?” Isak asks, suddenly a little concerned.

“Come on,” Even says as he stands up. “You really want to spend your afternoon in my study spot or come to my place?”

Isak hops up at that. “Your place is good.” He pauses. “But it’s my study spot. I’ve had it since last year.”

Even just raises an eyebrow. “I’ve had it for two years.”

“You can’t own a Norwegian study spot if you spend more than 90 days in France. It’s in the university’s bylaws.”

“So you’re studying law now?” Even laughs as he picks up Isak’s bag as well.

“I’m really smart,” Isak says, grabbing the bag from Even’s hand. “I could be a fucking detective, with all my skills of deduction with the notes.”

“Can’t believe I didn’t figure it out on my own,” Even groans. He leans back on the table, and pulls Isak’s bag closer to him, bringing Isak with it.

“You know I’m gonna lord that over you.” Isak whispers. Even drops his hand from the bag, and places it on Isak’s hip.

“I thought as much.” Even whispers back, eyes now on Isak’s lips. He looks up briefly, as if checking to see if he can move close. Isak gives the subtlest of nods, and then Even’s lips are on his.

It’s not their first kiss. No, that one was in a booth at one of Eskild’s favorite clubs, slightly drunk and full of angst at the unknown of it all.

But Even’s lips are unbearably soft, and when he sighs so sweetly and grips Isak closer, they both just know it means something big.

And how nice that is, how heartened Isak feels inside, that he knows now. That he’d said exactly what he wanted, and Even did the same. That he and Even are on the same page, in the same book.

**Author's Note:**

> idk what the fuck that was. hope you liked it! lmao i don't necessarily agree with the things isak and even say about all these authors and books, but it was a fun exercise
> 
> except for bad blood. i'm 100% certain that isak and sana have thoughts about it. that's just canon now. so read bad blood by john carreyrou because the story is insane


End file.
